The Other Lizzie Bennet
by onion.sun
Summary: My own modest attempt at a modernized version of Pride and Prejudice, but with some slight changes in the plot. Also, my own view on Lizzie Bennet in modern times. Probably reminiscent of Bridget Jones and the like. Give it a try.


It was going to be perfect.

By perfect, I mean an adjective close to perfection, because perfection itself is a bit tedious to achieve.

I am talking about the dinner of course.

I had arranged a cozy romantic dinner in my apartment. It doesn't sound like a big event, but in some ways it was because George hardly ever spent time at my place. It was mostly me at his place.

So now was one of those rare opportunities.

I got some Italian takeout, the fancy kind that looks like it took ages to cook. I lit scented candles and put on a tiny green dress from Hennes – which means it was not particularly expensive but still festive enough to make me look like I was going to a charity event with all the celebrities.

I was almost certain that tonight George would finally get all corny and tell me he loved me. He had been giving me tiny hints all week about something that he wanted to tell me. The closest he had got to such a declaration was when he said he loved the way I took off my bra without him seeing anything. Yeah, not very romantic, I know.

I wanted the apartment to be in top shape.

The bedroom still smelt like vomit but mostly because I had left my work clothes there and little Theresa had thrown up on me that morning because she had been too nervous to recite the poem for show-and-tell hour. This happens a lot to me, but it's usually because some kid ate a box of crayons.

Anyhow, I opened all windows, hoping the stink would just vanish, but Mr. Browning from the third floor was throwing a barbecue in our improvised back yard so there was no fresh smell of spring coming up. Only beef and onions, but it was better than vomit I guess.

I was anxious not to stain my dress so I just walked around aimlessly for half an hour to check if everything was okay. Maybe I hadn't picked up all pairs of underwear, bras, bottles of Chardonnay, numbers of Vogue and such.

I didn't want it to look messy, or like I had just cleaned it up. I wanted it to look as if I always cleaned it up.

After taking another turn around the apartment I realized everything was fine. All that was missing was George. Who had promised to come at five on the dot. He does have a demanding job but it's nice to know he's not one of those guys that always put career before relationships.

Well, I wouldn't know if our relationship means that much to him, we've only been going out for a year or so, which isn't so much if you think about couples like Tom Hanks and his wife whose name I always forget, so he would be entitled to consider the Law firm a bit more crucial.

But only a stuck up git would pass up such a perfect and romantic dinner to stay in an office with a bunch of depressed middle-aged men who probably don't want to leave because a version of Cherie Blair is waiting for them at home.

And as expected, after only a twenty minutes wait, George showed up at my door with a bouquet of carnations.

'Sorry, babe, Victor wouldn't stop going on and on about his new boat. He tried to get me to go fishing with him this weekend but I told him I had to go to Thailand. Hope he bought it,' he said kissing me briefly and putting the flowers on the small table in the hallway.

'Oh yeah, people always go there at weekends,' I said smirking.

'Don't you look like Christina Hendricks tonight?' he complimented me, inspecting the dress. 'I don't know how I'll pull off being Roger though.'

'Awww, you' re watching Mad Men again? For me?' I asked, knowing he'd begun to watch it just because I'd shoved it down his throat repeatedly whenever I caught him watching anything else.

'Well, come on, take off your coat, make yourself comfortable and get ready to be dazzled by an Italian festival of the senses.'

'You know I get scared when you talk like the lady on the shopping channel…' he mumbled, massaging his back.

I led him into the kitchen that was (shockingly) much cleaner than usual. Well, I had turned off the light so maybe it was the darkness that giving that illusion. The table was already set and ready, though, and the candles were giving the room a very pleasant baroque kind of look, I liked to think.

'Fuck, could you turn on the light? I can't see a thing.'

'Come on, it will ruin the entire atmosphere,' I pouted as I settled in my own seat.

'I can't even see what's in my plate. By the by, what's this yellow thing here?'

'It's mustard silly.'

'And the violet that smells suspicious?'

'Beet root,' I said sticking out my tongue.

'Aww, thanks for preparing this special meal with indiscernible food. Very on the edge.'

'I'm glad you like it, you'll have to eat it all.'

'I thought this was supposed to be pleasant. What's that smell?'

'The candles are scented, it's cherry. Doesn't it me you crave for the delicious cherry tart I have saved up for later?'

'No, babes, I think I smell onions. And something like dog poop.'

Crap, I guess the smell of barbecue and vomit hadn't quite vanished.

'Oh, you know, neighbours throwing a barbecue, as usual.'

'I bet their food is better,' he said taking another gulp.

'No, it's not, it's just common meat and some chips and maybe some beer. Nothing special. Just a lot of poison. While you have a delicious, healthy meal in front of you made by yours truly.'

'Are you meaning to tell me you cooked this _yourself_?'

'Does it look like I haven't? I had to look through so many of my grandma's old recipes just to make this for you.'

'I didn't know your grandma _was _Italian,' he said.

'Did she have to be Italian to know Italian recipes?' I asked, making a face.

'Okay, okay, she didn't,' he defended himself, reaching for the glass.

'Oh right, I forgot the wine. It's in the fridge. I wanted to keep it cool.'

Unfortunately, I had put it in the freezer in my excitement and now it was…a block of ice.

'I'll just warm it up somehow. No worries!'

George started laughing.

'Forget it, babes. I don't think we can drink that anymore. Have you got anything else in the fridge?'

I opened it hoping to find champagne or some delicious Scotch.

'Milk, apple juice and soup,' I enumerated all the liquids with a disappointed face.

'I should have thought of Plan B. I mean after _cooking _this meal...' I muttered annoyed, trying to emphasise the fact that I had troubled myself, when in fact, I hadn't. But I was stressing myself to make up for it.

'Babe, I got it, okay? You _cooked _the meal. And I am more than impressed. Relax. Apple juice will do.'

I decided he was right. I had to chill. It was _just _a dinner. An Italian dinner.

We started talking about our day. That always put us in a good mood, because we always had some funny story to laugh about. I told him about Theresa vomiting all over me while he told me about an annoying and misogynistic client who wanted to sue his wife for making him obese by cooking him only fat foods.

'And then the bloke said, with a very straight face might I add, that his wife just couldn't stop feeding him and he blamed it all on her mother who did the same thing to his father-in-law and then he started telling me how his father-in-law had lost ten pounds since he divorced his mother-in-law…'

'Sounds crazy, sounds something one of my kids would say for the show-and-tell,' I replied.

'Nah, you're insulting those poor children. The man is an utter idiot. I'm going to advise that wife of his to divorce him.'

'You'd do that poor woman a service.'

'I'm sure I would. Some gits really treat women like crap.'

'And get away with it too,' I said emphatically. 'Glad you're on our side on this one.'

'Well, it's not like I have a choice with you around,' he said smiling warmly.

'You're right, I'd feed your jewels to the dogs if you ever complained,' I said, grinning. Although I hoped he wouldn't take me literally.

He grinned back.

'Wouldn't dream of complaining,' he mumbled.

'Good.'

I took his hand in mine and we just stared at each other over the candles.

The phone started ringing, but I let it ring because honestly I didn't want to get up and let go of his hand.

We were having what one would call 'a moment'. Yes, it had been induced by bad apple juice and gender discussions. I would call that a success.

But then, the answering machine started yelling at us.

'Liz? Are you there? I know you're there you fat cow, so pick up! Emergency! Eeeeemergency! Liiiiiiiiz! Get your arse on the phooooone!'

And then 'the moment' shat on itself.

George groaned and let go of my hand.

'Good God, does that woman ever take a break from being a total drama queen?'

'Eh, you know Charlotte, she takes everything so seriously…'

The phone started ringing again and I thought I should probably answer and show the world I wasn't a terrible best friend.

'Hey, Char…'

'The fucking bastard took off with all of my jewellery! Can you believe this shite? How can you trust anyone nowadays when every fucktard you meet wants to take your belongings? I just thought, okay, we'd have a fun time, get a couple of drinks, maybe share facebook addresses, but he turned out to be one of those weak men that can't have a stable job and a stable mental condition. I should've known he was a kleptomaniac when I saw him stealing napkins when we went to dinner, but I thought maybe he had a thing with hygiene which I found attractive, because most men I know are total pigs, so this was a refreshing change. But no! He had other reasons! And I was so bloody naïve! Sometimes I'm too nice for my own good, I swear!'

'Hold on, Charlotte, hold on a bit, take a deep breath.'

'What deep breath? I think I _am_ breathing!'

George rolled his eyes and made a time-out sign with his hands.

'Then, be glad he just took your jewellery, I mean the guy could have been really dangerous. You were lucky.'

'Lucky?'

'Well, it could've been a lot worse. You should always consider that there is always "a worse". And next time, try being more careful and you know, actually get to know the guy before you jump into something totally stupid.'

'Oh, yeah, thanks a lot! I call to ask for help and you throw me shite from applied psychology books! Ah, sorry Liz, I'm not feeling very well. I just ate two boxes of liquor candy.'

Charlotte was obviously having one of her fits again so I settled comfortably on the sofa to calm her down.

George got up, turned on the light and started clearing the table.

Ah, our dinner was already over. And I bet that moment we had was kind of lost. Unless I somehow start another talk on women's rights with him.

'Liz? Are you listening?'

'Yeah, yeah I am.'

But I was paying attention to George too who had wondered in my bedroom.

'…so they know we're the superior race! That's why they're so damn scared of us!' Charlotte went on. 'That's why only Goddamn _criminals_ have the guts to take us on.'

'You know the second part of your theory is ridiculous, right?'

'Well, it's worth a shout or two, especially since my emerald necklace is probably in that prick's filthy pocket. He's probably going to sell it and maybe next day I'll see it on some other bitch's neck…Oh yeah, you weren't doing anything important were you?'

'Well, actually, George is here,' I said meekly.

'Aha. Well, at least _you _are in a functional relationship. Good for you. Where's he now?'

'In my bedroom.'

'Go there quick, he might run off with your belongings. Honestly, I'm giving this advice to all of my friends from now on.'

'Duly noted, Charlotte,' I said rolling my eyes.

'Are you two pre or post shagging?'

'Charlotte!'

'Well, you said he was in your bedroom!'

We talked a little bit more before I hung up, almost forcefully because she really was a chatter-box when she wanted to and I went into the bedroom to check on George.

I almost hoped he'd be lying on my bed, only in his pants wearing his sexy smirk.

He was asleep. He had fallen asleep right on my bed.

I sighed and sat down next to him.

_Creedence Clearwater Revival_ songs were streaming out from the back yard. It's true this wasn't a very romantic moment, but watching him sleep felt very nice. It was a very peaceful feeling. Like the kind Gilmore Girls episodes or Christmas cookies give you.

I went into the living room to watch some T.V. and I let him sleep. He woke up at nine and he was really panicky for some reason or other.

'Liz, why'd you let me sleep so long?'

'Maybe because you seemed really tired? Plus, you get all prissy when I wake you up.'

'Crap, I'm late for my appointment with a client.'

'Appointment with a client? Come on, it's almost night time. You're off duty. They can't work you like a dog,' I said a little bit irritated. I mean, when I planned this romantic dinner, I thought he'd stay over.

'It's a pretty big one, Liz and he's flying directly from France and he wanted to meet me tonight. He's really busy. Remember, I told you last week about it.'

'What's his name anyway?' I asked curious.

'Darce, or Darcy, something like that,' he said looking around for his suitcase.

'Sounds like a guy from a novel.'

'You never know… Anyways, I know you hate me but I have to take off. I promise I'll make up for this. Big way. Twenty tons of pizzas.'

Why was it that he thought food would ultimately make me feel better?

'Make it twenty _one_ tons,' I replied morosely, trying hard not to sound too disappointed and secretly hoping he'd keep his promise. I had a nice vision of me lying in bed and he stuffing pizza rolls in my mouth, while Debby Reynolds played in the background.

'Right, will do,' he said kissing me hastily.

'By the way, you said you had something important to tell me,' I blurted out quickly, fearing that unless I spoke up now I'd never get my cowardly courage to do it later. 'I mean you told me earlier this week that you wanted to talk.'

'Oh, I...did?' he asked confused.

'Yes, _several _times.'

'Oh, I must have forgotten. Probably not important. I promise I'll call you later okay? But I really have to go now.'

I sighed and nodded my head.

'Sure thing.'

He grinned and ran out the door almost knocking down my coat-hanger.

'God damn coat hanger!' he muttered. 'Bye babes!'

'Go get'em tiger!' I yelled after him.

I went back to the couch and grabbed a book.

Italian night was over. And he hadn't said he loved me or anything. He didn't even remember he had told me he wanted to talk. And he said it was probably not important.

So whatever he wanted to talk about, it wasn't what _I _thought.

But what am I saying? I don't really need words to feel he loves me. What if he said he loves me just to please me, and then he'd actually resent me for making him lie to me?

Wow, that would suck.

See, that's why actions speak a lot louder than words.

Course, he left to meet up with a busy client, so his actions, if anything, show he is a responsible, career-driven person.

But also that he's a bit neglectful. Just a tiny bit.

At one in the morning, I tried warming up that ice-block of wine.


End file.
